


Blow Your Sox Off

by bluevelvetvideo



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Dom/sub, Dry Humping, F/M, Face-Sitting, Light BDSM, Oral Sex, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-17 17:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20624852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevelvetvideo/pseuds/bluevelvetvideo
Summary: Betty Jones gets a new job with a bunch of DudeBros athletes at CBS. Jughead lets his insecurities fester until he gets a little snappy and she gives her good boy a gentle reminder how much she loves him.





	Blow Your Sox Off

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY KINK WEEK, RIVERBABES!
> 
> This fic started in the Kinky Fucks Discord _weeks_ ago and its finally here! 
> 
> Special thanks to Fonsie for listening to me babble and second guess everything about this and for encouraging me and being the absolute best sounding board a gal could ask for. 
> 
> Thank you to Em and Tory for being amazing humans always and looking over this and making it better. I appreciate you both very much.

* * *

* * *

After the third night that week that Betty returned home late from work, meeting with players from the Boston Red Sox for interviews and a schmoozefest, Jughead was feeling discouraged. Logically, he knew his wife would never cheat on him, was so in love with him it would never even cross her mind — but the primitive, jealous caveman in his mind was trying to convince his logic otherwise.

Jughead and Betty Jones left everything they had ever known in the small town of Riverdale for the bustling streets of Boston. It wasn’t their first choice post-grad, but they decided together that they wanted a change from the life they had known the last twenty-five years.

They’d gotten married in the same yard they met in when they were only six years old. Fred and Mary Andrews were happy to oblige. But after all that town had given and taken away from them, it was time for a change — time to get away and see what they could really do on their own.

Betty had been offered a job at the Boston branch of CBS reporting on area sports from pop warner football to Major League baseball. She’d found a love of sports writing in college that she’d never known she’d had. She ran with the newfound passion, determined to make a name for herself in the male-dominated industry. It was something he admired her for, but sometimes visiting her and being around all that testerone got to his head.

It was after ten o’clock when their apartment door creaked open. He was up, as per usual, writing his latest novel and grading midterm papers for the College’s spring semester when she quietly snuck into their office and wrapped her arms around his shoulders planting a kiss to the side of his neck.

“Hello, my love,” she cooed in his ear, slowly drawing her finger across his shoulders.

“Another late night with the sportsball dudebros?” He asked, not trying to hide the disdain in his voice. 

“You know it’s part of the job, Jug,” she sighed.He knew that it was, he did, but it didn’t mean he was happy about it.

Who would be happy about their wife hanging out with men who were paid to be ripped out of their minds athletic and _ rich _, when they were at home, writing a novel they would probably never get published and took a job teaching just so they didn’t feel like a worthless lump. He knew his wife was out of his league when they had met, well before they had even thought about dating. 

Jughead Jones had always known that Betty Cooper was far too good for him and he was scared out of his mind that one day she was going to realize that. 

Maybe that day was coming sooner than he had hoped.

Her hands were still at his shoulders and her grip tightened. He sighed deeply and pushed himself back from his desk, walking right past Betty and into their kitchen to grab another cup of coffee — if he was going to make any progress on this chapter, he was going to need the fuel. He heard the clack of her heels approaching him and he knew he needed to tell her what intrusive thoughts had been occupying his headspace. When the clacking subsided, his coffee began to drip into the empty porcelain cup. He turned around slowly to find his wife standing there, arms crossed.

“Listen, Jug. I know you’re not thrilled about me being home late, but—”

“It actually has nothing to do with that,” he cut her off. “It’s the fact that one day pretty soon, if it hasn’t already, you’re going to wake up and realize that I’m not what you deserve.” He watched as something changed in Betty’s eyes. It was a look he had seen before, one that usually sent a shiver up his spine and had his knees buckling. 

“Now, Forsythe. Why one Earth would you think that?” Her voice was sultry, more so than usual. He swallowed thickly.

“Because it’s true. Because it’s always been true,” his voice echoed in the silence of their kitchen.

“That’s not any way for my good boy to talk, is it? We know that isn’t true, hmm.” She said, slowly stepping out of her shoes and kicking them to the side. 

“C’mon, Betts,” he said, trying to resist her, but he knows that he can’t — he’s never been able to, especially not when she spoke to him so beautifully.

“Now, now Forsythe. I think you need a gentle reminder,” she stepped slowly toward him, never dropping his gaze. 

He gave in to her, just like he knew he would. Was it so bad that he needed to be reminded every so often that his wife was completely in love with him? He didn’t think so.

She crooked her finger for him to follow her out of the kitchen, and without fail, he followed, like the good soul he was. He followed her down the hallway, his coffee long forgotten. Hopefully it wouldn’t overfill.

She ushered him into their bedroom and closed the door behind them, turning the lock even though no one else was in the house. She stayed by the door, surveying her husband; he could feel her eyes on him.

“Strip for me,” she said as he turned around to find her slowly unbuttoning her blouse. He wasn’t too happy about it, he always loved this part — undressing her, taking his time, but sometimes, she needed it, so he’d let her have it.

He pulled the old t-shirt from over his head, exposing his chest and the waistband of his boxers. His hands swiftly unbuttoned his jeans and he let them fall to his feet. His eyes haven’t left hers since they began their dance, but he knew she was only on the third button of her shirt.

When he stepped out of his pants, standing there in only his boxers, he saw her smile. “Bed, please,” she said sweetly.

“Okay.”  
  
“Excuse me?”

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth,” he corrected and she nodded her head. He settled himself with his back against the headboard, legs straight ahead and waiting. She slowly padded over to him, still working torturously slow on her buttons and he wanted to lurch forward and rip it off of her.

She abandoned her buttons in favor of the zipper at the back of her pencil skirt and let it pool at her feet. Without missing a beat, she stepped out and continued toward Jughead. She sat at the edge of the bed, just out of reach of him and he knew better than to reach out for her as much as he desperately wanted to.

“Do you know my favorite thing about you, Forsythe?” He thought carefully, it was probably a trick question, before he could think to answer, she did. “You are more than just a pretty face.”

He sat there quietly waiting to see where she was going with this line of thinking; he wasn’t entirely sure. 

Glowing under her praise, he grinned, “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” 

“You know what else?” she said, leaning closer to him, beginning to trail her fingers over his bare chest, “you know how to string a sentence together properly.”

“I’d hope so,” he muttered under his breath, earning him a warning tap against his stomach.

“Can I tell you about my day?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I was interviewing the shortstop, and one of my questions to him was ‘the last few games haven’t been necessarily easy, coming off of a three-game sweep in New York, your last-ditch effort to win this game was dependant on your communication skills. How would you say you’ve improved those skills under new management?’” She chuckled to herself, shaking her head slightly as her hand continued up Jughead’s chest. “And do you know what the response was?”

“No, Miss. I don’t,” he still had no idea where she was going with this.

“You see, my brilliant Forsythe,” she started to explain, scooching closer to Jughead. “He stopped and looked at me, laughed, then proceeded to ask if I meant his _ last-stitch _ effort.”

“It’s a common mistake, Miss Elizabeth,” Jughead said, trying desperately not to laugh.

“Tell me what it means.” Her voice was rigid, he knew better than to try to defy her.

“With the earliest usage back to the early eighteen hundreds, the phrase last-ditch effort was used to imply a last line of defense or last attempt before failure,” he recited almost robotically, like he’d done it before.

Jughead knew that misused phrases were one of Betty’s pet peeves. It almost angered her how something so simple could be misspoken, so he made it a point when they were younger to correct the behavior in himself and learn their origins, just in case he ever needed them.

“See,” she smiled brightly, “more than just a pretty face. You’re my very smart boy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth,” he said finally breaking and reaching for her, but just as he did, she moved away again.

“Do you really think I could be with someone who makes these kinds of mistakes?”

“No.”

“Do you need a little reminder of how much I love you?”

“Yes, please,” he nearly begged, feeling his erection growing tighter in his boxers.

She smirked, sitting back further onto their bed and tapped his ankles. Jughead spread his legs apart and Betty settled herself on her stomach, her chin propped in her hands, eyes level with his twitching erection.

“No touching,” she said before lowering herself to press soft, teasing kisses to his thighs and hips. 

Betty pulled his boxers down, just enough to expose him before pressing feather-light kisses from his balls to the tip of his penis. By the time she’d gotten there, he was twitching against her lips. He could feel her smile against him before her tongue flicked out for a taste. 

His fingers gripped into the bed next to him as he watched her take him into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around him slowly as she began to move her lips up and down his cock. She released him with a pop and their eyes met. There was little left of his favorite shade of green before she dove back in, adding her hand into the mix. 

She worked him slowly, alternating between taking him deep into her throat and jerking him with the surplus of saliva she’d lubed him up with. She alternated pressure and did all of the things he loved at once and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d come. 

She picked up the pace, hand and mouth working their glorious magic on him. He cursed under his breath. Before he could even tell her he was about to come, she stopped abruptly, sitting back on her heels and smiled, wiping the moisture from around her mouth.

"Now, Forsythe. I have one request."

"Anything, Miss."

"I'm going to need you to keep your hands on me at all times. If you let go, there will be consequences. Is that clear?" Betty asked getting up from the bed and finally removing her blouse and tossing it to the side.

He swallowed as he watched his wife remove her undergarments slowly. He nodded as she approached the bed again; he reached out his hand for her but didn’t touch her just yet.

“But you said,” he said for clarification.

It wasn’t the first time Betty had been in some semblance of control in their bedroom. Usually, yes, it was him, but sometimes, it was nice to not have to be. He could follow the rules when he was asked to and this time would be no different.

Betty had always been keen to his needs, always known how to reassure him and take care of him. This was no different. This was the first time he’d spoken up about his fears, but he was sure she’d known. He had never been able to hide from her, never been able to keep a straight face when faced with discouragement. God, did he love her.

“Are we clear?” Betty echoed.

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, touching her for the first time since Betty returned home from work.

“That’s a good boy,” she smiled. “Now, what is it that you’d like?”

Jughead always wanted to please his wife before thinking of anything of himself — that wouldn’t change now, even if he did desperately want to come. He would have been happy with spooning, but they’d moved too far past that now. But asking for what he wanted, they’d experimented once before with this tactic, but he was sure it was something he’d never get used to.

Hetraced his fingers up her arm, drawing hapless patterns against her skin while he contemplated. He knew the answer of ‘_ whatever you want’ _ was not an option at this point. She knew he’d be happy and willing to do whatever it is she asked.

“I’d like,” he paused, “I’d like to taste you, Miss Elizabeth. I’d very much like it if you would let me do that.”

His fingers were still drawing patterns on her skin when he sees her smile. She moves to straddle his hips, her bare core brushing ever so gently against the cotton of his boxers and he twitches. His hands find her hips and smooth to her back. Betty’s hand found its way into his curls and her fingertips scraped at his scalp as she leaned herself closer into him. 

Their kiss is pure fire; her hands in his hair, a thumb just under his jaw, her teeth lightly nibbling at his bottom lip before her tongue replaces it, caressing his own. His hands are everywhere at once, at her back, her hip, at the curve of her ass. There is passion and fire and his body was aching for her, to be inside of her.

Betty let his mouth go with a soft mewl and her lips trailed kisses to his ear. 

“Scootch down. Flat on your back,” she whispered into his ear before continuing the trail to his neck and shoulders.

Jughead maneuvered himself under her, his back flat against the bed, just as instructed. His hands were firmly at her thighs, careful not to break contact for fear of punishment. He could see her slick heat from where he lay and it had his mouth watering. He placed a chaste kiss to both thighs and waited for further instruction. 

Her hands were in his hair as she lowered herself closer to him. Admittedly, this wasn’t his _ favorite _ position, but as long as he got to taste her, he honestly didn’t care how. She was hovering just an inch from his mouth and he exhaled in frustration. The anticipation was killing him, but his need to obey her far outweighed his urges to close the gap.

The breath he released had Betty’s breath caught in her throat. It seemed his frustration was working in his favor somehow. Her knees spread further apart, lowering her the rest of the way to him and when Betty’s hand gripped tighter into his hair, urging him to begin, he did not hesitate. He would never hesitate when it came to her.

It started with a tentative lick, a slight flick of his tongue against her clit. If he thought back to it, it had been quite a while since he was able to have an intimate moment with his wife. Between baseball season, her promotion, and his academic schedule and novel writing, they barely saw each other. It was either morning coffee or a goodnight kiss, that was about all.

Betty hiccuped in pleasure and his floodgates opened; the tentativeness was gone and he dove right in. His tongue lapped and laved at her core as he ground her hips against his mouth, fucking his face eagerly. His fingers gripped into her thighs, keeping her steady and not breaking the rules. 

Her nails scraped against his skull, fingers threaded through his hair tugging gently as he continued. He pulled away for a breath and he could hear the pleasure in her sighs; it almost sounded like relief. Maybe she had been feeling the tension between them, too. Maybe they’d just fallen into a rut of complacency and neither knew how to reverse it, feeling it was already too far gone.

His grip loosened and he soothed the skin of her thighs and up to the curve of her hips, following the slow motion they kept as he kissed his way back to her dripping sex. He lapped at her, running his tongue through her slick folds and he could feel her thighs starting the shake — whether it was from ecstasy or pain, he wasn’t entirely sure yet. 

Then he heard her breathing pick up and he knew which it was. He picked up his pace, wanting to drink all she had to offer him. His hands continued their path up to her chest and he groped blindly, pinching her nipples between his fingers, rolling them and her hips ground down onto his tongue a little more vigorously. 

He matched her pace, listening to her breathy instructions of _ right there _ and _ don’t you dare fucking stop _. He didn’t dare stop, not when he could tell she was so incredibly close. His lips surrounded her clit and suckled, causing her undoing. He savored every drop she gave him, groaning against her skin, counting his lucky stars that he was the one who got to do this for her, the one who got to marry her and simply exist with her.

Her hips stopped moving and her grip relaxed as she caught her breath. He placed soft kisses to the skin he could reach, waiting for her. Betty’s hands slid to his neck, slowly and gently urging him back to his original position against the headboard. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do that without letting go of her, but her tugs were becoming insistent. He used her thighs as leverage, and managed to weasel his way back to her straddling his aching cock. 

He nuzzled his nose against her neck savoring the sweetness of her post sex scent. When Betty finally pulled away, his heart sunk.

“What a well-behaved boy you are, Forsythe,” Betty cooed. “That tongue of yours is like magic. Was that what you wanted?”

“Yes, Miss. Thank you,” he said groaning as the praise shot directly to his groin.

Betty rolled her hips against his aching cock and he bit back a moan. They were still separated by a thin layer of cotton and it was sheer torture. Her movements were slow and her fingers trailed up and down his neck. His eyes fluttered closed as he gripped tightly at her hips again. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to shimmy his boxers down and fuck her hard right then and there, but he held back. Self-control was not always his master quality, but it was the name of the game and for her, he’d obey.

“So polite, Forsythe,” she whispered into his ear, her fingers still stroking the length of his neck. Her hips were still rolling against him and it was growing increasingly difficult to restrain himself. “Do you remember the trailer fire?”

Over a decade earlier, back when they were still just dating and exploring, they’d done some things they were not proud of, but looked back fondly on. The sex they had in Alice Cooper’s station wagon that night was ranked fairly high on the list. He remembered the heat, not just from the blazing inferno in front of them, but the palpable tension between them. He still wasn’t entirely sure _ why _ they’d reacted that way, but they had and it was a night he’d certainly never forget.

Her slick folds trailed up his boxers; he could feel her heat against him and his cock twitched involuntarily — he wasn’t sure if it was from the memory or her movements.

“Yes. I do. Vividly,” he said moving his hands from her hips to her ass and kneading the flesh carefully. 

“It looked a little like this, didn’t it?” She asked, continuing the motion of her hips, whispering words into his ear. “You were so eager then.” She bucked her hips a little faster. She nipped at the skin by his ear, using her hands to control the angle of his head as she scraped her teeth against him. “But look at you now,” she cooed. “My sweet boy,” she smiled.

He groaned at the recall and the praise, her motions getting faster as she spoke. It was going to take every ounce of energy he had left not to come before he was even inside of her. His breath was staggering and he knew he’d be done for in a matter of minutes.

Her hips stilled, he was sure she knew what he was thinking. “Good boys don’t come until they’re told to.”

He bit his lip and tilted his head back, smacking it gently against the headboard. It was going to be _ very _ difficult not to if she kept it up.

“You want to be a good boy for Miss Elizabeth, don’t you?” Jughead nodded. “Use your words.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want to be good for you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, trying to focus on steady breaths to calm him down. She smiled, pleased with his response it seemed.

She straightened her legs and reached to the waistband of his boxers, shimmying the cotton down his legs enough for him to spring free. She sat back on her heels and looked down at him, watching with her bottom lip cradled between her teeth. He can’t even remember the last time he was this incredibly turned on and so close to nirvana until it was quickly snatched away. 

“Remember, be a good boy,” she reminded him just before joining their lips together and settling over his now painfully erect cock.

She teased again, painfully slow and he could already feel himself on the wrong side of being good for her. He tried his hardest to picture things to ebb the feeling, but nothing was working. He simply couldn’t resist his beautiful wife.

Without warning, he was surrounded by her, engulfed by her walls, her moans in his ears. She was riding him slowly like _ he _liked. He leaned forward and took a nipple into his mouth, his tongue matching the pace of her hips. She was holding him to her chest and when he peeked a glance up at her, her eyes were closed in pleasure, mouth open. He could hear Betty’s heartbeat and could practically feel it in his mouth as he kissed his way across to her other breast. 

He suckled at her, the sound of her breath getting faster along with the motion of her hips. He released her nipple with a pop. He ran his fingers down her back, his own eyes closing from just how good she felt around him. He tried to hold back, tried everything he could, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold off. He wanted to be good for her, so badly and he was even more afraid to disappoint her.

“Please, Miss Elizabeth,” he breathed, his hips matching her pace, a steady rhythm they’d been using for years falling into place. His thumb made its way to her clit and began stroking small, fast circles, bringing her closer to the brink of pleasure, as well. “Please,” he begged.

“Don’t stop,” she moaned. And he didn’t. She fell apart, fluttering around his cock as he continued to pump in and out of her, waiting for the word that he could join her.

“Does my boy wanna come for me?”

“God, yes,” he sighed, not stopping.

She didn’t respond for a moment, drawing out the anticipation longer than he knew he could hold out for. It may have been a record he had no idea, but it was getting so incredibly difficult. Betty leaned in closely, her lips just a fraction of an inch away from his.

“Come then. And don’t keep me waiting,” she whispered before pulling him in for a bruising kiss. 

Her tongue swiped at his and it was all it took for his vision to fade around the edges and burst hot streams to coat her walls. He moaned, her kiss drawing it out from him, stealing his breath as they work through their orgasm together. She pulled away from his kiss, looking down at him through hooded lids with a satisfied smile on her lips.

When he was finally able to catch his breath, they hadn’t moved. Betty was still on top of him, straddling his hips. She pressed her forehead into his, drawing a deep breath and circles onto his neck with her thumbs. He hummed in contentment.

“I want to kiss you again,” he said, finally able to get the words to leave his throat.

“Juggie, you can kiss me anytime you want. We’re married,” she giggled.

So he did. The push-pull of their lips was slow and sensual and very much the opposite of what had just occurred. His hand was at her neck, thumb stroking her cheek and he couldn’t help but smile behind the kiss. 

He loved her. He had always loved her. He is certain it would take Hell freezing over for him to stop. He simply was not able to. 

Eventually, Betty dismounted and scurried out of the room without a word. He looked at the door as she left, still naked and disappeared into the dark of the house. She comes back a few minutes later with an assortment of snacks, water and a beaming smile on her face.

She throws a bag of tortilla chips at him and he falls in love with her all over again. She rejoins him in bed, settling into the crook of his arm and kissing his chest.

“I know things haven’t been ideal lately,” she said. “I didn’t know you felt that way, and I should have known something was up, but I was so focused on work that I —”

“It’s alright,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head after swallowing a mouthful of chips. “You know I get into my own head. I swear I could convince myself of just about anything given enough time and sleep deprivation.”

They both finished their post-coital snacks and discarded the bags on the nightstand. Jughead rolled over to turn out the lights, content to sleep early for the first time since they’ve been in Boston. As he settled back into bed, he felt Betty’s arm snake around his waist. He nuzzled back into her, like she always did to him.

“It must be a special occasion, I’m never little spoon,” he joked.

“Sometimes I forget that you need to be held, too. I’ll do better,” she promised and he could feel it in his bones.

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know what you thought! Come find me on tumblr: shrugheadjonesthethird


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